Perspective
by Sullen Siren
Summary: "There's no such thing as Fate, or destiny.  There's just life.  My girl always knew that.  Always."  A look through the eyes of a character we've never met onscreen.  Rated "R"for language


  
  
  
  
Perspective   
  
  
  
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." -- Henry David Thoreau, "Walden"   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


She thinks she's so unreadable. She walks around with this untouchable, unreachable persona, as if no one understands her and she doesn't give a fuck. But I know different. I've seen her from the beginning, when she would yank her diapers off and throw them at people who pissed her off. She always had an attitude, my girl did. People think that shit comes from a bad home life. Now, I'm not saying I've helped matters any, but that was there to begin with, that attitude. She was born angry. Right now, she's not angry though, she's just decided. Can't say I blame her. Did the same thing once, when I wasn't much older than she was. Probably be better off.   
  


And it's not like she had it so bad in the beginning though, you know. She was just a kid, like the dozen others on our block. Ugly houses, one TV, fast food and no air conditioning. But it wasn't bad. She had a home, she had a family, clothes, safety. She wasn't beaten - sure I gave her a slap every now and then for her mouth, but then she earned that. I got the same as a kid, and it didn't hurt me any. Kids these days are too soft, anyway.   
  


She hates me, I think. Doesn't surprise me. She hates me the way all teenage girls hate their mothers. God knows I did at that age. Hell, I still hate the bitch. She was like a lapdog my father liked to pet sometimes. She'd wag her tail just the same, whether he kicked her or petted her. Always knew I wouldn't end up like that. Whatever mistakes I made, no man ever did that to me, ever made me helpless. That's something at least, right? Not much maybe, but something. 

There's been men, don't get me wrong. Her daddy even stuck around long enough to give me a ring. He wasn't a bad guy, I guess, in the grand scheme of things. He was young and restless. I never expected him to stay with us, not really. Still hurt when he split though. I stopped paying the mortgage. Stopped doing much of anything. Yeah, I drank a bit. But I was entitled. Country singers drink all the time when they get dropped, no one says nothing to them about it.   
  


When I was a kid, I was my daddy's darling. He was a mean, lying sack of shit, but he loved me. Probably why it took me so long to learn how to hate him the way he deserved to be hated. Last I heard he was serving time for assault. Went after some mistress with a wine bottle. I told her about it, when she was eight. No, nine, 'cause that was the year we lived in that apartment with the slanted floor, and her candles slid to the side. Cake tasted like cardboard and the landlord came for the rent in the middle of the song. That was the year she started sneaking out. Caught her with the boy next door, wearing my makeup and rolling her skirt till it was at her ears. I probably shouldn't have called her a slut, even if she was acting like one. It was a long time before she forgave me for that one. I half think she never did. She always was one to hold a grudge. Takes after her mom there. I've never forgotten a single wrong done to me, not ever. Can't do anything about them, but I never forget.   
  


My dad drove trucks, and wasn't home much. I didn't know that all that away time was a good thing. After all, the bastard treated me good. Mom was different when he wasn't there. I always thought it was strange that she was meaner when he was gone than she was when he was home. When he came home, he would take me places. Nothing expensive, just daytrips. Parks, picnics, lakes and other things you could get for the price of a tank of gas. We'd talk and he'd let me sit on his lap and steer my mom's big boat of a car. He told me I could be anything I wanted. Back then I wanted to be a veterinarian. Used to bring little animals home when they hurt their paws or wings. Mom always threw them out - she wasn't much of an animal person. Dad told me I could do it, if only I worked hard enough and believed. He used to say that every person has a calling that Fate picks out for them. He said most people missed it, 'cause they weren't listening, but if I kept my ears open, I'd find my destiny.   
  


Dad didn't know shit. I talked to my girl about the things my parents never told me about. Sex, drugs, money, men, I told her about real shit. Reality. My girl knew what the real world was. My dad told me I was special. He treated me like a princess. Truth was I wasn't anything special. I was just one of the herd. I grew up to live a life that was so fucking ordinary there isn't a single person who'll really remember my face the year after I die. There's no such thing as Fate, or destiny. There's just life. My girl always knew that. Always. It was the best thing I could do for her.   
  


My daughter is a strong girl. Stronger than me. She stopped talking to me when she was thirteen. We still said normal things, good morning and the like, but she didn't really talk anymore. I always figured she was talking to someone else. Some boy probably. People talked about her enough that I always knew what was going on. No matter what neighborhood we went to, someone wound up buzzing in my ear about my daughter. Like I gave a shit what they thought. Girl was smart. She had the facts. My girl could make her own life. They said she started fights. Said she roamed the streets at night. But she was there in the morning when I woke up, and isn't that what matters anyways? She always came home, always fixed me coffee. And by then, I guess I always needed it. Everyone has their demons. Mine's always come in a bottle. Just like my daddy.   
  


I told my daughter that things didn't change. I told her that she was born to a white trash mother, and she'd die the way she was born. Things don't change. People aren't born special. They're just born rich or poor, bad or good. She had a bad start. My fault, my parent's fault, her daddy's fault - maybe all of it. But I told her she was just my daughter. She wasn't anything special. She'd never change the world, but she was still my daughter. Sometimes, I wish the world were different for her. But it isn't. I wasn't about to lie to her about that.   
  


I've made mistakes, but I don't regret that. It was the truth. Maybe I would have been happier with my life if I hadn't had someone filling my head with impossible dreams when I was a kid. Maybe I'd have been a better mother. Doesn't do any good to second guess I guess. My baby, she's not bad. I know that. She's just hard. Like her mama. She doesn't smile much though. Maybe I should have given her a dog, like she'd asked. It's been a long time since she hugged me. Been longer since I told her I loved her. I do. I think I do, anyways. Don't feel much of anything these days. It's easier that way. But she knows. She has to know, doesn't she?   
  


I wonder where she's going, but I don't ask. I don't think I'll see her again. She made coffee already. I barely even remember how to make it myself anymore, it's been so long. She's almost done packing, trying to fit that slutty leather jacket in her little duffel bag. I'm pretty sure she stole that jacket, or maybe a boyfriend gave it to her. She looks like some kind of biker's bitch in that thing. None of my business what she wears though. I try to tell her it's okay. Try to tell her that I understand. I try to say goodbye, that I love her, that I'll miss her. "All that shit'll never fit in there. Take the brown suitcase in my closet. Fuck if I need it." She nods and doesn't look at me as I walk out the door. She'll be gone when I get back. I can tell she's upset. After all. I'm her mother.   
  


She'll be alright. She knows what the world's like. I fucked up on a lot of things, but I did that part right. Prepared her. People like us, we don't have careers. We're not destined for greatness. We just exist. We're the nothing that holds the world together. And there's nothing wrong with that, right? My Faith would end up on her feet. It's the way she was. She'd never make it to the top - she was a born bottom feeder. But she'd survive. Maybe next life around, she'd get to be something special. Maybe I would too. Fuck. I should have said goodbye. 


End file.
